The only sense that doesn’t let me down is my ability to feel his touch upon my skin. So when his palm meets the side of my head and his fingers grab hold of my skull, it’s more than a shock to everywhere else. Tensing beneath his touch, I snap out of my trance as the terror takes over and my body stiffens. Everything comes into focus just in time for him to make his move. I see his shadow, I smell his stench, I taste it all over my tongue and more importantly, I hear his words. I hear them more clearly than I’ve ever heard anything in my life.
“She isn’t yours to keep.”
Then the next thing I see is darkness as his hand slams my head into the nearest tree, the roughness of the bark biting into my skin as I collapse in a heap on the ground beneath him.
The world around me is now black.
The world around me is quiet.
The world around me is finally allowing me to sleep.
Thirty-Four
Sometime later
The first awareness of my surroundings is more than a little blurred. The onslaught of overwhelming feelings across my body threatens to send me straight back into darkness before I’ve had much chance to focus on the light. Everywhere hurts. When I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. My muscles throb from the arch of my feet right up to my shoulders. The tight tendons in my neck feel like pieces of string that will snap if I strain them any further.
Like waking up from a bad dream, it takes me a while to remember where I am, or even who I am, as the black world that I was previously encased in suddenly sets me free. The sharp inhalation of breath I make hurts my dry throat and burns my chest. Even blinking seems to cause pain down the side of my face. Scrunching my eyes up tightly allows me to feel where the real agony lies for the very first time. The left side of my head screams out as the weight of my injury seems to push itself down into every nerve ending surrounding it.
I’m so lost in trying to figure out how to work my most basic bodily functions, like raising my chin, pushing my hands against the ground and wiggling my toes back to life, that I don’t hear the sound of the stranger beside me. The contact of an animal’s rough tongue makes me retract quickly and stumble back into the tree.
“Easy, love. Easy.”
My eyes frantically search all around for anything that makes sense to me. I’m scared and confused, but more importantly, I’m freezing cold. Every inch of my skin prickles to fight against the muscle crippling temperatures. Nervously looking up to see the source of the voice, my hands fall automatically to the tops of my arms defensively. What I see looking back at me isn’t what I expect. The air no longer smells like danger as it did before everything went dark. Now, it smells safe. Crouched down beside me are an old man and his dog. I can’t think about pinning an age on the guy. All I know is that he’s old enough to be retired and that the animal is more than likely his best friend. The black Labrador sniffs around my legs like it’s searching for something neither one of us can see. Its tail is still as it investigates its new surroundings.
“That’s a nasty cut you’ve got on your head there. Did you take a fall?” he asks in such a soft way, it makes me realise he’s as wary of me as I am of him.
Reaching up to try and touch the injury, I instantly pull back and hiss through my teeth before even making contact with it. “Som-something like that. I’m okay,” I lie.
“No, lady, you’re not.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a rather large, old mobile phone, looking at it like it may as well be piece of equipment from NASA’s space command centre. “I’m going to try and call for an ambulance or something.”
“No!” I shout far too manically, regretting it the second I do it. My body isn’t ready for that kind of volume just yet. “No,” I repeat in a whisper. “Honestly, I really am okay. I just took a tumble.”
“That was quite a tumble,” he says quietly. I don’t miss the crease of his brow that tells me he doesn’t believe that that’s all that happened.
Deciding against speaking, to conserve energy more than anything, all I can do is smile flatly and nod once, careful not to move too fast but enough that he can see my silent acknowledgement of his statement. I’ve suffered worse pain than this before, but I’m that little bit older now, and my body isn’t as used to fighting against the unnatural feelings of discomfort as it once was. Swinging my feet underneath me, I try to stand without making it look or feel as difficult as it is. I can hear the man’s pleas for me to remain still, but I can’t help thinking that I need to keep moving.
There’s somewhere else I need to be.
He reaches out to help me the best he can, though it’s clear that it’s as much of a struggle for him to help me as it is for my legs to turn themselves from jelly to a solid form. Whatever we do to get me standing, it’s all a blur. The ringing in my ears is almost as painful as the head injury itself, and taking in the oxygen I need hurts as much from the fact that my chest is tight with anxiety as anything else. There’s a tugging on my heart I can’t explain. Something is off and it isn’t just the fact that I am here, in the middle of the woods, covered in blood after just being attacked.
Shit!
I was attacked.
Like a tornado throwing a small town through the air, the memories of what happened and what was said, just before I passed out, all come flying at me at an insane speed. If I wasn’t holding onto my rescuer’s shoulder, I’m pretty sure I would stumble back and fall over. The noise that was there before is now replaced with my attacker’s last words before I was pushed into oblivion.
She isn’t yours to keep.
The Labrador is sniffing around my feet as though he’s trying to place a smell that doesn’t belong to me, his owner or the surrounding woodland. The distinct, vile odour of the man who gripped my head flares through my nostrils in memory and the severity of the situation becomes all the more clear.
The notes, the slashed tyres, the promises of forever from the mystery J, none of those were from Jack. Everything that’s happened to me over the course of almost a year has been happening because of Daggs.
And right now, I’m not with her. She’s alone, god knows where and she is in more danger than she even realises could be possible. The need to find her and keep her safe kicks in, right alongside the rush of adrenaline that surges through my body, diluting all the pain that threatens to cripple me and giving me the energy I so desperately need to run.
“I have to go. I’m sorry, I have to go. My friend… she’s in… she’s in…” I can’t finish my sentence before I find my feet, grip the side of my head and start to run away. Normally, the guilt chip that lives deep within me would feel bad for leaving that little old man and his dog back there, without so much as a word of explanation as to what I’m doing, but today, none of that seems to matter. The only thing that matters is her safety.
Every movement I make as my feet pound the uneven pathways sends a blinding shot of pain through my head and threatens to block my vision off altogether, yet it’s amazing how much I can tune in and out of it as long as I just keep the picture of her in my mind.
Keep running, Izzy. Just keep running. Remember the old days and all those times across the fields, when you just had to grit your teeth and bear it. This is nothing compared to what you’ve already been through… nothing at all.
It takes me a long time to get home - at least three times longer than it would under normal circumstances. All the way here I’ve been preparing myself for a fight in case Daggs is on our doorstep. Not that I could do any serious damage, but at least I could try. I have to try. As I turn the corner that leads back down to our street, I keep my head down and try not to choke on the heavy beats of my heart that seem eager to jump up into my throat and stop me from breathing.
When I eventually look up, my world comes crashing to a halt, along with every muscle in my body. Stood in front of the door to our home are two policemen, both with their heads down, both with their hands clutching the radios on their chests.
I already know something bad has happened. I don’t need them to tell me that she’s hurt. I can feel her injuries as well as my own. My right leg feels like it’s going to give way from beneath me and my right arm feels swollen. I can barely breathe; I’m so lost in the new sensations that have taken over my body. Where just moments ago, I thought everywhere already hurt enough, now the pain has been doubled to incorporate hers as well.
“Isabella Moffit?” a voice says to me quietly. I can’t remember taking those final steps towards the house, but seeing as they both stand in front of me now, I know I must have done so without thought.
“Where is she?” I whisper as my eyes look up to meet theirs. “Where is she?”
“Miss, can we go inside?” One of the men reaches for my shoulder, gripping it gently in his hand. I can feel him examining the side of my head and looking back at his colleague in confusion. They know something has happened to me and I’m sure they’re connecting the same dots I already joined up minutes before.
“No,” I answer quietly, shaking my head just enough for them to know I’m not going to make them a cup of tea and offer them a fucking biscuit before they tell me what has happened to her. “I know you’re here about Paris. I want to know. Is she…” I can’t bring myself to finish the sentence. I don’t need to. They know what I’m asking.
Exchanging nervous glances at one another, the one furthest away from me eventually speaks. “Miss, Paris Hemsworth is currently at Manchester Royal Infirmary after being involved in a biking accident in a suspected hit and run.”
The hand on my shoulder seems to grip me tighter and I feel another hand fall to my back, yet all I can do is stare straight ahead. “How bad is she?”
The officer holding me speaks this time, clearly more comfortable taking over from this point as the other guy turns away and speaks into his radio. “She’s stable. Enough to ask that someone come here to check on you as she suspected you were in danger.”
“She…”
“Miss Hemsworth is claiming that the hit and run was a premeditated attack and that she’s been receiving threats to both your safety and hers for quite a few months.”
“What?” I gasp; my voice practically inaudible as my mouth falls open.
“Threats, Ma’am. Letters, phone calls and she suspected she was being followed on more than one occasion.”
“For a few months?”
“According to your friend...”
Moving far too quickly and without much thought, my head snaps to my left and my eyes lock on those of the stranger in front of me with as much intensity as I can muster. She’s been receiving threats, too, yet she hasn’t told me. We’ve both been hiding things, obviously in an attempt to keep one another from worry, and look where it’s led us. Instead of leaning on one another, we’ve made a huge fucking mess of the whole sorry situation for what feels like the hundredth time in our lives.
When will we learn? When?
Clenching my jaw together and speaking through gritted teeth, ignoring the pain in my head at such unwelcome tension, I growl quietly, “Officer, I would like to press charges against a Mr. Jason Dagson. I have a file upstairs as thick as the Bible on all the things I’ve got against him, including pictures of the physical abuse he subjected Paris Hemsworth to. I also have details of the drug ring he operates and can probably give you and your team all the evidence you’ve been looking for to put him away for a very long time.”
“Jason Dagson? The Jason Dagson.”
“Yes, Sir.”
His eyes flicker back to his colleague’s before he slowly pushes against the small of my back and tries to guide me forward. I don’t think he’s aware of just how stubborn I can be when my mind is made up. Turning my feet to lead, I hold my place and stare back at him in silence. It takes a few moments for his shoulders to relax and for him to reach for the radio across the left side of his chest. I know he’s about to do something, say something, make some instructions when my hand reaches up to his wrist and I whisper a plea.
“Help me keep her safe. Please. I’m begging you. She’s all I’ve got.”
“We’ll do everything we can, Isabella. First, let’s get you inside and sat down so we can deal with that head injury of yours. My colleague will call an ambulance while we’re inside.”
“No, Sir,” I say flatly. “No, the only place I’m going right now is to the hospital and, seeing as my head’s a little bust open at the moment, I’d really appreciate a ride, if you and your friend have the time spare. If not, I’ll walk. I’m not going anywhere until I see that she’s safe with my own eyes. Not this time. Our mistakes end here.”
Thirty-Five
One hour later
Her injuries are severe enough to warrant her spending a couple of nights in hospital, although part of me suspects she is actually happy to stay there just for a decent meal in comparison to what the pair of us are able to cook up at home. When the police first take me to find her, after handing over every shred of evidence I have for them to use against Daggs, there isn't much fight left in me to hold onto the brave face I've been wearing on the journey here. When I see her lying in bed, the right of her face all grazed and her body falling limp on one side, the tears inevitably flow.
Reaching for her hand as I slide into a chair at her bedside, I squeeze it ever so gently and rest my chin upon the ends of our entwined fingers. Paris’ head falls to the side and the sad smile she gives me screams of tiredness and defeat.
“It looks worse than it is,” she croaks out, sounding like anyone but the person she really is.
“I know.” My smile mirrors hers as I wipe the tears on my shoulder and sniff away the sadness as much as I can.
“The police have told me what you’ve done.” Her fingers tighten around mine and her voice drops even quieter. “Are you sure we can take him on this way?”
The fear that pours out from her is plain to see and more than expected. She’s lived her life afraid of this man, who was meant to love her, for more than six years now. With every month that has passed, she’s tried to convince herself that she’s in control of her life, that he no longer holds her in his hands the way he once did. But the look in her eyes as she stares back at me tells me she realises just how great of a lie she’s been living all along.
“What choice do we have? He’s going to try and kill us either way. He won’t stop until he hurts you or hurts me. This is the only hope we have.”
Her head rolls back against the harsh hospital pillow as she glances up to the ceiling as though looking for an escape route from life itself. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on. I just…”
“Hey,” I say softly, moving even closer and rubbing her wrist with my free hand. “I fucked up as well. We were trying to protect each other, like we always do. It’s who we are. We need to stop making apologies for it and just try to change how we do things from now on.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“Isn’t it?” I ask quietly. “Paris, look where we’ve ended up compared to where we thought we would be ten years ago. We’ve been on so many roller coasters, alone and together, it’s a wonder we haven’t been on our arses before now. Give yourself credit for everything you are and everything you’ve survived. Don’t chastise yourself for everything you aren’t. You’re better than that.”
“Mav,” she sighs, “You really need to learn to take your own advice. You know that?”
“Yeah.” I laugh, the corners of my eyes creasing together a little too tightly, sending a harsh slice of pain into my own head injury. “And you need to realise your best friend is sometimes right, without always turning everything she says back around onto her.” My brows rise when she finally turns back to look at me and I can see the slight roll of her eyes that she tries to hide.
“Do you think we’ll ever learn to stop trying to do things alone when we have each other?”
“Probably not.”
“Then there’s no hope for us, is there?�
� Her laugh is off, probably due to the tiredness she feels clawing at her body and her desperate need for peace - whether that’s through sleep or by some other means, I don’t know.
“Of course there is. There’s always hope, Goose. You’ve just got to think what Dandy would say if he was still around. What would he tell the pair of us to do?”
Her answer comes back quicker than I think even she expects it to. Her father runs through her blood so much that she doesn’t need time to think about anything when it comes to him. He’s there, speaking to her every single day, probably in the same way he speaks to me, but so much stronger, louder and clearer than I could ever imagine.
“He’d kick both our arses into shape and tell us we have one life to live and to be grateful for what we have in each other.”
“And…”
“And to never give up hoping for a better tomorrow,” she whispers, her eyes filling with moisture as the tears threaten to fall onto her beautiful face.
“Exactly,” I breathe out, raising her hand to my lips and giving her a quick, comforting kiss. “Exactly.”
We spend the next thirty minutes talking. She questions me relentlessly on what happened to my head and, unfortunately, my ability to lie to her and play it down seems to have disappeared. Of course, the guilt comes in abundance. Paris sees all this as her own fault. If only she hadn’t run away all those years ago, none of this would be happening. I have to remind her that it’s all a part of life; it’s who we are. We take the paths we take, not knowing what or who is waiting for us at the end of each one. Sometimes things work out. Sometimes they don’t. It takes me a while to calm her down and remind her that not only do the mistakes we keep making in not communicating need to stop, so do all the regrets.
We both have them and we’ll deal with them together. She’s not in this little thing called life alone, and neither am I.
When the time eventually comes for me to leave, I call the nurse in to ask a few questions about her injuries and watch as they give her more tablets to numb whatever pain she is in. After a while, her eyes start to droop and I know I have to make my own way down to the accident and emergency room to get my head looked at. Now I know Paris is safe and away from harm, I can’t put it off any longer.
Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1) Page 25
